


Lest we too awkward show

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Alistair (Dragon Age), Awkward Romance, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, and are bored, because they care, friends being nosy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18643891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Zevran and Leliana both know what’s up and try to investigate, while Caitwyn Tabris and Alistair try to play things close to the best with varying levels of success.Note: series will now be weekly!  Was too hard to remember to update bi-weekly.





	Lest we too awkward show

Caitwyn was fairly certain Zevran was laughing at her.

The assassin kept pace with her as they plodded northward toward Orzammar.  To the west the Frostbacks rose to staggering heights, and Caitwyn idly wondered what the world would look like from up so high.  Though it would undoubtedly be cold, from the snow that clung to the shoulders of the great mountains even summer. At their present elevation, however, what curls escaped her braid stuck to her skin unpleasantly, though her current scouting companion seemed untroubled by the heat.

In fact, she thought she detected the occasional upward twitch at the corners of his mouth or an amused light in his brown eyes.  She must have been watching him a little too long, because a grin curved his lips and he mildly asked, “My dear Warden, is there something I can do for you?”

“No!”  The reply was too quick, too sharp, and he laughed aloud at her then.  Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and she resolutely fixed her eyes on the path forward.  “Come on, we need to keep moving.” Her short stride lengthened and though he was taller than her, she outpaced him for a small distance before he caught up with her at a brisk trot.  

“Ah, it would not trouble me, if you had anything on your mind you wished to discuss.  After all, I have sworn myself to you, and though you have not yet succumbed to my charms, I do have other uses beyond the martial.”

“Don’t know what there could be to talk about.”  Eyes forward, that was the ticket. Wall out the Antivan’s amused lilt.

“Oh, many things!  Perhaps what has helped you recover your spirits?  It has not escaped my notice that you were much improved this morning as we set out.”

“Well, it wasn’t your cooking.  I’ve never had a breakfast that burned like that before.”

“Ha!” he crowed, throwing back his head and laughing heartily.  “Ah, yes. You southerners are not used to peppers. I have only a small store of them, but perhaps we shall obtain some more soon.  It is most healthful!”

The burn still lingered on her tongue, and she had nearly spat out her breakfast.  Alistair  _ had _ , however, and had promptly started digging into their stores of dried meat and cheese instead.  She might have found his distress somewhat funny if she hadn’t been in the same situation. The only one unaffected had been Sten, who pronounced it  _ adequate. _

“How is sweating from spice and burning your own mouth healthy?”

“Think on it, Warden.  If you sweat, you cool off in the heat before you exert yourself, and the spice aids in digestion, which I believe we could all use some assistance with, yes?  Considering some of our, ah shall I say, less than healthful diet. Particularly after it is Alistair’s turn to cook.”

At the mention of her fellow Warden (Though he was no longer just that, but what was he?  What was he? More than friend, yes. More than that, but not… anything else when they’d only exchanged shy, fleeting glances over breakfast before setting out this morning), the heat on her cheeks migrated to her ears, and Caitwyn puffed as if the heat of the day were getting to her.  To her deep and everlasting regret, Zevran was not fooled.

“Hm, perhaps you have some questions concerning Alistair?  Yes?” He tilted his head inquiringly, and she was reminded of a brightly colored bird she’d spied in a lady’s room once.  It squawked and  _ spoke _ , repeating all sorts of words, but with an intelligence she hadn’t credited to animals before.  It had spotted her as she’d been lifting a few particular items and raised a hue and cry. 

“Can’t see why I’d have questions to ask  _ you _ about the man.  Unless you and he have become fast friends.”  The parrot had been bribed with a bit of crisp bread she’d found nearby, and she had been left in peace.  Maybe something like that would work here. 

“Ah, I see where the confusion lies.  No, I meant if you had questions about, hm, what would you Fereldans call it?  Wooing—”

“You know, I have thought of something you could do for me, Zevran.”  Her quick patter broke to the smooth stream of his words, and she turned to face him square on.  Like that bird in the lady’s chamber, he cocked his head and eyed her with mild,  _ bribable _ , curiosity.  “You could teach how to speak Antivan.”

He blinked.

“What?  Have to do something more than just stare out at all this wilderness.  I like it well enough, but why waste the time, right? Can’t be learning some of those tracking skills right now, of course, but learning words and grammar, why that don’t take nothing but the mind and the voice, don’t it?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a light, delighted sound, and he wagged his finger at her as if she were close to being in trouble.  “Ah, but you are clever to distract me so. Very well, my dear Warden, as you wish. We shall broaden your horizons one way if not another.  Now, let us start simply, yes?  _ Vamonos _ ,” he said, gesturing for them to go on.

“ _ Vamanos _ ,” she echoed, picking up their pace once more.

“ _ Muy bien _ ,” he said, and Caitwyn caught the word shared by Antivan and Orlesian, and wondered if the two languages were related in some way.  At least this would keep Zevran occupied and from asking her questions she didn’t know how to answer. And even if she did, she wanted to keep the answers to herself for a little while at least.

 

* * *

Alistair hummed, admittedly off-key, and applied himself to getting out that one last spot of burned potato from the inside of the pot.  He didn’t think it was particularly fair that he had to cook  _ and _ clean tonight, but the summary judgment of “he who burned it, must clean it” had passed without challenge.  At least no one had tipped their bowls out tonight, so he considered it a small victory.

Though he doubted anything could put a damper on his current spirits at present.

It had been a challenge to keep from grinning like a fool all day, from the time he woke up this morning until now, and he knew he’d been whistling or humming and generally making a nuisance of himself.  He just couldn’t help it. His whole body felt light, too light to be walking the earth, certainly, no matter the weight of his armor. Even the sweltering heat of the day didn’t seem to slow him down. 

She’d taken the rose.  She’d  _ liked _ the rose.  Even better she liked him!  Him! With his awkwardness, and tripping over his own feet—literal and metaphorical—and his bad jokes and all his other shortcomings.  But when she looked at him over the campfire, or as they stopped for water, he thought he detected a secret kind of smile on her lips, something just for him.

His attempt at scouring the pot had come to a halt as his mind drifted back in time only a single night and replayed the whole conversation all over again.  A lopsided grin broke over his face, and he wasn’t paying attention to the deepening dusk, but instead pictured her face the very moment she told him that she felt the same way about him as he did her.  Her delicate features earnest in a way he had never witnessed before her sudden turn into bashfulness as their mutual admissions hung between them.

Maker, he had thought his heart would burst from his chest in that moment.

Even when he’d nearly ruined it with a bad jest, about  _ steamy bits _ of all the Maker-blessed things he could have said, she had—

“Alistair, are you still scrubbing that pot?”  Leliana’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, and he jerked upright, only to bang his shoulder on the lip of the heavy, iron pot.  The impact sent a twang into his shoulder and down his arm and back, making him grunt in pain. Leliana gasped and knelt beside him, her hand held delicately to her mouth.  “Oh, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

“What?  This, oh, its nothing, really.”  He waved his arm about to demonstrate, though he was sure he’d be sore tomorrow.  The prospect of walking all day in armor with a sore shoulder still couldn’t wipe the smile from his face, however.  “Honest,” he assured her. “Just about finished. You need something?”

“Oh, no, I simply wondered if you were well.  Though you are in a very good mood for someone who has been scrubbing for so long, but then again you have been in good spirits all day.”  Alistair was about to agree, but then he caught the way Leliana’s eyes crinkled with amusement and the ever-so-slight smirk on her lips.

“Uh, just… any day without darkspawn is a good day is all.”

“Indeed it is, though I do believe your good cheer has another source.”

“Maybe I’m just a cheery fellow, have you ever thought of that?”

She laughed, and Alistair thought he might have just managed to surprise the bard.  “Oh, Alistair, you are more clever than you claim. If you do not wish to speak of it, I will not press you.  Though I am pleased to see you and Caitwyn have both recovered your good cheer.”

“Um,” was all he could safely manage after  _ that _ deeply un-subtle hint.  His ears felt like they had burst into flame and all reasonable thoughts fled from his mind.  What did he do?! What should he do? He didn’t want everyone gossiping about them, and he knew Caitwyn didn’t either.  Besides there wasn’t much to gossip about. Just a rose, and an admission, and the way his heart skipped a beat every time he saw her or sensed her cool, clean water presence.

Since he could sense her from a good two hundred yards away if he concentrated on her, his heart beat had been like an off-time drum all day.

“Right, well.  Yes, been a bit out of sorts.  Haven’t sensed that much darkspawn in a while, that’s probably it.  And yesterday? Well, heat was probably getting to her.” He tried to toss Leliana a complacent smile, a simple oh yes, nothing to see here sort of thing.  The blush creeping up his neck didn’t help his own cause, unfortunately. However, his evasion seemed to have worked. Leliana pursed her lips in a hesitant kind of frown, but her gaze was suddenly directed inward as she turned her face away.

“I believe yesterday is somewhat my fault.  I choose some… no, that is not right. I spoke without thinking and revealed myself to be not as good a person as I hoped.  Caitwyn bore the brunt of it.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t  _ that _ bad—”  Leliana waved her hand, dismissing his attempt to assist her.  Which was a shame, because he’d much rather talk about whatever Leliana had done to set Caitwyn off than whatever was or wasn’t the cause of the return to good spirits.  Though, a little part of him wanted to crow and kick his feet:  _ he _ might just be the reason.  Him! Couldn't do that here.  No, bad idea. 

“I am sure it will pass,” she said airly, as if it didn’t bother her too badly.  Except it clearly  _ did _ .  Then she turned back to him a dimpled smile.  “Since nothing is amiss, I shall let you return to your scrubbing, Alistair.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly as she took her leave.  Alistair let his head slowly fall to the rim of the pot and closed his eyes.  That had been a close one.

After his blush abated, Alistair returned to his scrubbing only for another problem to present itself.  Now that he and Caitwyn were… whatever they were to each other, could they still talk like Wardens together?  Would she listen to him like she had done when Zevran had been allowed to join and it had stuck in his craw like a bad piece of food?  Surely, she would.

 

* * *

Caitwyn stretched her hands toward the sky, reaching, reaching, reaching, as the first rays of sunlight fell across the land.  Holding the pose for a moment and breathing as Sten had taught her, she tried to center herself as best as she could. She let her face soften, the muscles relaxing, as she stretched her right leg back and dropped into another pose.  The sun on her face, she suddenly sensed a ball of warmth at her back soon accompanied by Alistair’s telltale heavy tread, and a grin curved her lips.

“I, um, made you some tea?”  It should have been a statement, but his voice rose uncertainly and turned it into a question.  Caitwyn extended her arms and reached down to her front foot, feeling the stretch in her side, but she opened her eyes and glanced up at him.

“Oh, that’ll be nice when I’m done.  You could set it down over there.” She pointed at a flat patch of ground nearby, away from her dog’s morning snuffle routine.  He was somewhere around here, ensuring nothing too interesting had occurred while he had slept. 

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk?”  Alistair tilted his head, trying to match the angle of her face, and attempted a grin.  Instead of his usual crooked smile that set off flutters in her rib cage, the worried arch of his brows made him appear slightly ill.  Caitwyn righted herself, and it was like a weight had dropped onto her stomach. Did he regret it already? Or had she not been attentive enough?  She didn’t know what to do; hadn’t she said as much? She’d never so much as been given a flower before.

“Of course.”  Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, thick and ungainly.  She took the offered tea, hiding her face behind the mug and steam.  Alistair fidgeted, tugging at his fingers, one ear, and then rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat all the while her grip on the mug made her fingers ache.  As she took a sip of tea, he spoke.

“So,” he drew out the word, and she took another anxious sip.  The he cleared his throat, and Caitwyn braced herself. “It’s about Leliana.  She said that she was the reason you were, um, irritated the other day. Now, I don’t, I suppose it's not my place to get—I mean.  Look, I think she’s rather sorry she hurt you, and no I don’t know the details, but I thought you might like to know? Or that I should let you know.  I mean I know we’re… not just friends anymore, alright, but we’re still Wardens, and you said we’re in this together, and I mean I said that, too, but—”

“Alistair.”  He shut his mouth with a click at the sound of her voice.  His rambling had undone the knot in her stomach; she had braced for nothing.  Though, she felt for him as he nervously worked his shoulders, knowing what it was to be hanging by a thread, and she smiled.  She smiled for him, and it lifted her heart. “We are still Wardens together, and I’m… I suppose I’m glad you talked to me. As for Leliana.”  Caitwyn glared past Alistair’s shoulder for a moment, then huffed. “What she said, it’s hard for me to look past some things. It… I didn’t expect her to think of elves like that.  She’d been so kind until that.”

“For what it’s worth, I think she’s taken it to heart.”  The hesitation vanished from him after her assurances, and she was glad of it.  Oh Maker, she’d thought he’d wanted to end things before they’d even figured out what this was.  

“I’ll give it some thought.  Maybe… try talking to her again, here or there.  See how it goes.” It wasn’t much a promise, but Alistair’s once-sickly grin turned into that crooked smile and he stood up to his full height.  He rounded his shoulders so often that it was her persistent image of him, not the truth of him. 

“Oh, good.  That’ll be good.”  He let out a nervous chuckle, as if bleeding off all his anxiety now that the worst was past.  “See, I didn’t know if we could still talk like this, but I’m really glad we can. I don’t, exactly, know what I’m doing.  Which is not something I expected to admit just now, but there it is.”

“You don’t?  Really?” she asked, incredulity coloring her tones.  “But, the rose, and you were so sweet. You’re telling me you’ve never…  _ courted _ before?”

“I thought it would’ve been obvious, tell the truth.  But no. Not much of a chance to go courting in a monastery, no matter what tales people might tell.”

“Well, this is fine, then.  Neither of us have any idea about what we’re doing.”

“So we’re on familiar ground,” he quipped, and she laughed.  “I’ll, um, leave to your stretching, now, shall I? Didn’t mean to interrupt you for this long.”  His ears were red again, and the blush had spread to his freckled cheeks. Her own face was warm, and she wondered if this would be a common condition from now on: semi-permanent embarrassment. 

“It’s alright, really.  And thank you, for the tea.  And the talk.”

“Right, well.  I’ll see to breakfast, I suppose.”  With that awkward parting, Alistair shuffled away.  Caitwyn allowed herself a few moments of watching him walk away from her while she finished her tea.  She could admit she rather enjoyed the sight.

 

* * *

Zevran carefully stoked the fire back to life while Leliana assembled a few odds and ends to produce breakfast.  He sat back on his heels and under the guise of judging the adequacy of his work, he eyed the two Wardens as they spoke some distance away, silhouetted by the rising sun.

“Something has changed there, though she does not admit it,” he said under his breath.  Leliana made a small moue of agreement and knelt next to him.

“Neither will he, at least openly.  However, he certainly gave himself away.”  Leliana, in spite of her own concerns about how she had hurt Caitwyn, was happy for the young woman.  If she could find a modicum of happiness in times such as this, it would be all the more precious for it.

“Of course  _ he _ has.”  Zevran shook his head and chuckled lowly.  “He has been mooning after her since we left Redcliffe.  A sorry sight that was, because I do not think she even noticed.”

“She has noticed now, though they are still hesitant with each other.  Do you not see?” she asked. The two rogues studied the pair for a long moment as they spoke.  Shuffling and turning in on themselves for a moment, hesitation and awkwardness in every line of them.  What they were saying did not matter. The way the two Wardens held themselves screamed that neither Caitwyn nor Alistair had any idea about what they had gotten themselves into.

“It is, my dear bard, plain as day to those such as you and I.  Tell me, if I am understanding your interest correctly, you believe that you and I should, what?  Assist them? Play matchmaker to our young friends?”

“Do you have some reason not to?”

“I suppose not.  We have a long journey ahead of us, do we not?  Very well,” Zevran agreed. He stood up and dusted his hands off.  “We shall offer our sage and wise advice to those less experienced than ourselves.  In what form will this take? Perhaps… an example for them to learn by?” Zevran’s smirk and the warmth of his brown eyes were unmistakable, but rather than her usual upset at his habitual advances, Leliana laughed.

“Zevran, if you stop flirting with everyone that catches your eye, I shall know you are unwell.  I am flattered, but no,” she declined with a graceful dip of her head as if to say she declined  _ regretfully _ .  She set the pan on the fire and waited for it to heat up.  “I am fairly certain we shall know our opportunities to assist when we see them.”  

“Very well.  Hm, I believe this shall be most amusing, yes.”  Zevran grinned and broke into a laugh, the prospect of providing romantic guidance suddenly rife with amusing possibilities.  Then both of them noticed Alistair approaching, his step somehow even lighter than yesterday’s, his shoulders square, and a grin now a permanent fixture of his face.

“Hm, mind if I ask what’s so funny?” Alistair asked as he glanced between them.  It was only their training—Crow and bard alike—that kept the from falling over in fits of helpless giggles.


End file.
